


Worm Its Way In

by prettycheese21



Category: Doctor Who, Supernatural
Genre: At least for the most part it wasn't, Bonding, Crossover, Dean Has Trust Issues, Gen, Humor, It's better than it sounds I promise, It's hard to explain, Mentions of Blood, Parasites, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Sam, Sick Sam Winchester, Ten is adorable, Ten tries to be helpful, based on an rp, but what else is new, it doesn't work, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7206515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettycheese21/pseuds/prettycheese21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While working a case, Sam falls ill and Dean (much to his chagrin) enlists the help of a certain Doctor to help him solve the puzzle before it’s too late for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worm Its Way In

**Author's Note:**

> Slight story behind this: So my friend and I started this RP 2 years ago and it only just got finished today because she always forgets to respond. But it's done now!  
> She wrote for the 10th Doctor while I wrote for Sam and Dean.  
> I apologize if there's some flow issues. Like I said, we've been writing this off and on for two years.  
> Enjoy!

   “This is friggin’ hopeless!” Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “We can’t find any information on what this thing could be. How are we supposed to stop this thing before it kills again?”

    Sam shook his head, equally as frustrated with the situation, “I don’t know, Dean. But I know that getting worked up about it isn't going to help.”

    “Can you tell me something that will help? Because I can’t figure that out with all the whiny assuring crap you’re spouting.”

    Sam pulled a face, “It’s not whining. It’s-”

    “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dean took a breath, running a hand down his face, “Let’s start fresh. What do we know?”

    “Well, so far, two people have died from what appears to be mysterious circumstances,“ Sam began, referencing a piece of paper filled with information. "Some witnesses say that the victims were ill before they died. They didn’t say with what though.”

    “That’s it?” he asked.

    “Yep. That’s it, until we actually get to town and interview people.”

    He nodded, “Alright. Get some sleep, we’ll head out tomorrow.”  
 * * * *  
    Meanwhile, the Doctor mentally reprimanded himself. Two people had already died. Two more people that he couldn’t save. He had been too late, all the signs pointed to alien involvement, though he wasn’t sure what kind. Right now, he slammed his hand down on the console, trying to pilot the TARDIS early enough to stop the next murder before it happened. He only hoped nothing would go wrong as it always seemed to when he was involved.

* * * *

   The Impala pulled to a stop in front of the house; the latest crime scene. They stepped out of the car, donned in their suits. Going up to the crime scene tape, they whipped out their fake badges to show the officer and crossed under it.

   As they made their way to the living room, another officer approached them. This one oozed experience and wisdom, which put the boys further on edge. “Who are you?” the man asked them.

   “Uh Special Agents Deacon and May, FBI,” Dean responded, flashing their badges again. “We have some questions about what happened here.”

   “Oh, I didn’t think the FBI was interested in this. Alright, well there’s not much to it to be honest. The victim was found early yesterday morning, lying face down on the floor, dead as a doornail. There was blood everywhere, but it looks like it all came from the victim’s nose.”

   Dean and Sam shared a look of confusion. Then Sam said, “Wait… are you saying that the victim died of a nosebleed?” He approached the body, curiously, and carefully kneeled down to get a closer look. He leaned down, trying to examine it for ectoplasm, sulfur, and other supernatural related residues. To his shock and disappointment, he found nothing of the sort.

   While he was doing that, the officer stated, “I’m saying it’s a lot of blood for a nosebleed and we’re still investigating all possible causes.” When he noticed that Sam stood up from the body, he finished, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to it. Leave your contact information with the sergeant outside and I’ll be sure to keep you posted.” They nodded and made their way out of the house, back to the car.

   “Okay, there’s something fishy going on here. Death by nosebleed?” Dean stated.

   “They did say they were still looking into it,” Sam countered.

   “When have the cops ever been right? When has it ever been the reasonable explanation? Look, let’s go back to the motel and start researching. Maybe dad wrote about something like this in his journal.” Sam nodded in agreement as Dean started the car and backed out, heading to the motel.

* * * *

   The Doctor ran around the console, pressing buttons and pulling levers as he steered her in for a landing.

* * * *

   Meanwhile, the Winchesters had gotten into the Impala and began driving along the road. Suddenly, however, Dean slammed on the brakes, swerving wildly, as a blue box appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road.

   “What the hell?” Dean exclaimed, looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed that. Luckily, they were on a country road that led back to town, miles from anyone or thing. He cautiously got out of the car, gun in hand with Sam mirroring behind him.

   The door of the strange, probably magical, blue box opened. This immediately made the boys draw their guns and point at the figure exiting. The figure froze, staring at the guns pointed at his face. He looked human, but in their line of work, that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

   “Who and what are you?” Dean demanded.

   The man stared at him, looking almost offended. “You humans,” he scoffed, “Always pointing guns at everything. If you could put down the guns, we could talk this over like civilized people.”

   Like that was ever going to happen.

   “Yeah, not happening,” Dean scoffed. “So, why don’t you just answer the question. Then we might be open to negotiating." 

   The man took a step closer to them, making the boys tense up even more. "Stay where you are,” Sam said, a warning tone in his voice.

   “You might want to start talking, or I’m gonna start shooting,” Dean deadpanned, looking the man in the eye.

   “My name is the Doctor.” Dean’s eyes narrowed and he clicked the safety on his gun as a warning to stop messing around. “Really! That’s my name!” the man insisted, “And I would really advise that you don’t shoot me.”

   “Why’s that?” Sam asked, cautiously.

   “Well,” the man said, drawing out the word, “You’ve got guns, and I don’t. You could shoot me dead, but the moral high ground is mine.”

   Sam wavered slightly at that. He moved closer to Dean and whispered, “He has a point, Dean. We can’t shoot an unarmed man.”

   “Are we even sure he’s a man?” Dean whisper-shouted.

   “I can hear you, you know,” the Doctor stated.

   He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the Doctor, “Alright. You wanna talk? Let’s talk. Start by telling us what you are and what you’re doing here.”

   “Well, you see, I heard that there were a series of strange murders. And, since I was here, I figured I’d investigate. Whatever it was didn’t sound human, and I thought I’d offer my expertise seeing as neither UNIT nor Torchwood ever take cases in the U.S. Of course that’s probably a good thing, I never really agreed with Torchwood’s methods. They’re more of the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind of people. UNIT’s a little more bearable. I used to work for them you know, technically still do as I never actually quit…” The brothers stared as the strange man rambled on and on.

   “Okay… so you’re here investigating the murders? So are we,” Sam told him once the man had stopped rambling. “Anything you can tell us about them? Maybe we could put our heads together on this.”

   “Sam!” Dean looked at him incredulously.

   “What? It seems like we’re on the same side. Maybe he can help us. He seems to have a lot of experience with these things.”

   “Yes!” the man said, jumping at the opportunity. “As a matter of fact I’d be a great help.”

   Sam started to nod, but Dean cut him off, hissing, “We don’t know if we can trust him. He already admitted he’s not human, but he hasn’t said what he is!”

   The Doctor smiled at them in an attempt to seem trustworthy, “Yes, well, I’m a Timelord, from the planet Gallifrey. And I assure you that my only goal is to save these people’s lives.”

   “A Timelord? What the hell is a Timelord?” Dean asked.

   “Dean, we don’t have time for this. We have no idea what this thing is and we don’t know when it’s going to strike again,” Sam pointed out. “Let’s go back to the motel. We can discuss the case and he can explain himself.”

   Dean didn’t say anything, only continued to scrutinize the man. After a tense moment, he relented, “Fine. But know that I’m watching you, pal. One wrong move, and you get a bullet in your skull.” With that, he turned back and headed to the car.

   Sam gave the Doctor an apologetic look, “Sorry about him. My brother isn’t really the trusting sort.”

   Before the Doctor could respond, the horn of the car sounded. Dean stuck his head out of the window and yelled, “You ladies done with your heart to heart, or are you going to get in the car?”

   The two men shared a look and got into the car. He carefully maneuvered the Impala around the TARDIS and took off toward the motel.

   Sitting in the back of the car, the Doctor stared out the window. “How long is this going to take?” He asked, sounding remarkably like a small child on a long car ride, “Cars are so slow! If we had taken my vehicle we could have been there by now.”

   Dean gave him a look that could kill through the rearview mirror, and the Doctor wisely shut up about the car. It was silent the rest of the ride to the motel, though the Doctor was (quite visibly) barely able to contain his fidgeting.

   Sam was probably the most glad of them all when they finally arrived at the motel. Mainly because Dean always looked like he was about two seconds away from killing the man in the backseat, which Sam really didn’t want to deal with. He unlocked the door to their room and opened it for the other two. The Doctor looked around in curiosity, completely enthralled with the room.

   It had peeling, crusty looking wallpaper with mysterious stains adorning the floor. The beds looked uncomfortable and had old fashioned bedding and cracked wooden headboards. The air in the room was musty smelling, almost as if no one had been in there for months.

   The brothers threw their duffle bags on the beds; Dean on the one closest to the door and Sam on the other one. Dean turned to the Doctor, “Alright, we’re here. Now tell us what you know.”

   However, the Doctor was a little preoccupied staring curiously at the door frame. He put his face very close to the wood, sniffing at it. The Winchester brothers were staring at him in confusion. Then, to their horror, he flicked out his tongue and licked the door frame.

   Sam screwed up his face, “Ew! Dude! What are you doing?”

   Then, just as they thought things couldn’t get any weirder, the Doctor reached into his pocket, pulling out a long metal cylinder. The brothers immediately snapped to attention, thinking it was a weapon, however the Doctor was oblivious to their actions, instead mumbling something to himself about the properties of wood and some sort of long chemical name that even Sam couldn’t pronounce.

   Dean leaned over to Sam, “What is up with this guy?” When he didn’t receive a response, he looked at his brother. “Sam?”

   Sam wasn’t paying attention. He was opening and closing his hands, and was blinking rapidly as if he couldn’t focus his vision. He opened his mouth and said, “I need to sit down.” The thing about that simple sentence that scared Dean weren’t the words in it, but the fact that it seemed Sam seemed to have problems getting those words out.

   Dean put a hand on his arm, carefully led him to the little table in the corner of the room, and sat him in a chair. “Sammy? Sam, you okay?”

   “Yeah. Yeah, just got really dizzy there. Haven’t eaten anything yet today. Can you go get me something? I saw a vending machine down the hall.”

   He nodded, “Yeah, just… You stay here, alright? Don’t try to get up." Giving Sam’s shoulder a pat, he quickly left the room.

   The Doctor had looked up at Sam’s strange attack. As soon as Dean left, he walked up to the younger man. Looking suddenly concerned, he crouched down in front of the sitting man, pulling out a pair of glasses and putting them on as he stared intently at Sam. "You know,” he said, “The Doctor isn’t only my name. I happen to have some training in the field. Would you let me examine you, just in case?”

   Sam looked at him strangely, as if he still wasn’t quite back yet. He took a little longer than it probably should have to process what the Doctor was asking him. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, he gave a minute nod.

   The Doctor began examining him just as Dean walked into the room, snacks and drinks in hand. “What are you doing?" he asked, quickly setting the items down on the bed, so he would be ready should he need to quickly intervene.

   The Doctor didn’t look up, instead using the same metal cylinder, which was now glowing blue at the tip, to scan Sam up and down. "I’m just giving him a quick medical scan,” he explained, “Just to make sure there’s nothing wrong with him since he just almost collapsed-”

   He was cut off as Dean suddenly, and forcefully, pushed him away from Sam. “Get that thing away from him!" The man yelled, still thinking the strange glowing tube was some sort of weapon.

   The Doctor knew better than to protest at the overprotective brother, but if he had just held the sonic to Sam for a little longer, he would have seen a dangerous spike in the readings.

   "I’m fine, Dean. He wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Sam defended. “Now hand me that blue bottle would you?” he pointed to the bed that held the snacks. Dean begrudgingly went over and grabbed the bottle, handing it to Sam.

   Dean didn’t want to believe that there was anything wrong with Sam. With all that they’ve been through, he was really hoping Sam was right and it was simply low blood sugar. But when he saw how long it took Sam to open the bottle, he knew he had to trust the Doctor (even though every part of him screamed not to). “What’d it say?” Dean asked. He elaborated when he saw the Doctor’s confused look, “That scanner thing. What’d it say?”

   “Oh, you mean my sonic screwdriver!” At their look of confusion, he elaborated, unhelpfully, “It’s like a screwdriver, except more sonic. Anyway, it was a little difficult to get a proper reading. I had to adjust the settings a little because your brother was emitting an unusually large amount of psychic energy for a human.” The brothers shared a glance, but he remained oblivious to it as he continued, “Occasionally, a human will have greater sensitivity to telepathic energy than normal. It’s usually harmless, and I can tell that’s not what caused this.”

   “And what did cause it?” Dean asked, impatient for an answer.

   “Well,” there he went again, drawing out the word as if putting off having to say the next sentence. “I don’t actually know what caused this. All know is your blood pressure is fairly high and there seems to be a large number of white blood cells in your blood stream, almost as if your body’s trying to fight something off…”

   “Fighting something off? What? You mean he’s sick? With what?” Dean asked, his protectiveness showing again as he did the human equivalent of bristling.

   “I told you, I don’t know,” the Doctor responded.

   “Can you guys just talk to me? You act like I’m not even here,” Sam said, annoyance in his voice.

   “Well, you weren’t here for a while there,” Dean stated, trying to control the amount of worry in his tone. “You feeling better?”

   “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me. We need to worry about the case. We know next to nothing about this thing and could strike again at any moment.”

   Dean was about to retort, but the Doctor beat him to it, “Ah yes, the murders. Two victims, appeared to have bled to death from their nose. Either this is an outbreak of terrible nosebleeds, or something sinister is at work. I’m thinking some sort of vicious alien that-”

   It was now Dean’s turn to cut off the Doctor, “Whoa! Nosebleeds? So you’re saying that the cops were right and these guys died from major nosebleeds? How does that even work?”

   “Well, with human anatomy, bleeding from the nose can be a sign of trauma to the nose, or in more serious cases it can leak into the nasal passages from the throat, or the even the cranial cavity. You know, the ancient Egyptians used to remove the brain before mummifying a body through the nose? The membrane between the nasal and cranial cavities is thin enough for that kind of thing to happen with little resistance. You humans are so fragile! Just a little poke through your nasal membrane can have your brain leaking everywhere,” the Doctor explained.

   He seemed to realize that he had been rambling, for he then went on to say, "Sorry! That was rude wasn’t it? But anyway, in short, they could have bled to death from many different causes, internal or external. I’ll need to examine one of the bodies with more detail to find out more.“

   The brothers stared at him, trying to process the word vomit that the Doctor just spewed. Sam shook his head, as if to clear it, "Alright, why don’t we finish setting up here and then we’ll take you to the morgue. We’ll need to make you a fake badge before we go.”

   “Don’t you think you should slow down?” Dean questioned. "I mean, the guy did just say you’re fighting something off. You don’t want to make it worse.“

   Sam carefully stood up, ignoring Dean, "Hey Dean, why don’t you set me up for that? I’m going to use the bathroom.” Without another word, Sam had disappeared into the bathroom.

   Dean sighed as he went to his brother’s bag and began to unpack the requested items. He only unzipped the bag, though, before he sat on the bed and put his head in his hands.

   The Doctor could tell by his body language that his tough composure was beginning to crack. It wasn’t much of a crack, but it was noticeable to anyone looking at him. He frowned slightly, and it was as though he was looking through a mirror. Only while Dean hid behind his tough, carefree attitude, he tended to use humor and smiles to mask the pain inside. For a moment, he considered talking to Dean about the subject, but wisely decided not to.

   Instead, he did what he did best: smiled and said in a confident tone, “Actually, I don’t need a fake badge.” He waited until he had Dean’s attention, then pulled out his psychic paper with a flourish.

   Dean stared, unimpressed. “That’s a blank piece of paper,” he said.

   The Doctor’s eyes widened, turning to look at the paper himself. “So it is,” he murmured, “You are clever, aren’t you…”

   “So, what were planning on doing with that blank piece of paper?” Dean asked, confused by the man’s logic.

   Before the Doctor could answer, Sam came out of the bathroom. He looked slightly more refreshed, but still slightly unwell.

   “Alright, let’s get to it. Where’s the stuff?” Dean held out the kit to Sam, who took it and sat back down at the table. “Oh! We need a picture to put on the ID. Do you have a recent picture we can use or do we need to take one for you?” Sam looked up and saw the Doctor standing there, staring at Dean, with a blank piece of paper in his hand. He raised an eyebrow, “Um… what’s with the random piece of printer paper?”

   The Doctor then turned his gaze to Sam. “You don’t see anything either?” he asked waving the paper in his face.

   “Um… no. Should I see something?”

   The Doctor suddenly grinned, “Nah, you’re much too clever.” At their confused looks, he explained further, “I don’t need an ID because this is my ID. And certifications, credit cards, key cards, library card, you name it.”

   He could see that the others thought he was delusional, and since it didn’t work on them, he wasn’t sure if they would believe him until he used it. With a sigh, he realized that they were not about to let him go to the morgue without making him a badge. It was, of course a waste of time, but from what he had seen so far, the Winchesters were stubborn.

   So he reached into his pocket, rummaging around for a photograph of himself. He pulled out various objects that were in the way, including a ball of yarn, a candy bar, a few spare mechanical parts, and a bag of dog treats. The Winchesters watched as the pile grew, including a photo which the Doctor had at first looked triumphant, but had tossed aside that was of a short haired man in a leather jacket with huge ears. Eventually he was successful, finding a picture of himself, trench coat and all, standing next to a blond girl.

   Sam was about to take the photo from him when he noticed the way the Doctor was looking at it. He was looking at it with absolute adoration. “We can just take one if you don’t want us to ruin that one. It’s no trouble, really.”

   Dean was about to counter that when Sam gave him a look. He shut up then.

   The Doctor didn’t seem to have heard them. He was still staring at the photo. Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but the Doctor began to speak first, “Her name was Rose,” he murmured, barely audibly. “She was my pink and yellow human. She was perfect, she saved me from myself and I lost her,” he trailed off sadly.

   Sam was instantly sympathetic to the man. He stood up and went over to him, “I’ve been through something similar. Um… my girlfriend, Jess. She, uh, she died because of me. Some demon just came and killed her. Burned her alive on the ceiling.”

   Dean started to laugh, even though he looked like he was trying not to cry. The men gave him a weird look, to which he said, “It’s funny. It’s funny how the people we care about die because of us. And the best part about it is, there’s nothing we could have done to stop it. The only thing that would have saved them is not meeting them at all.”

   The Doctor nodded, realizing the truth in Dean’s words. “As much as I try,” he said, “No matter how many people I save, I can never save the ones I love.” He suddenly turned, face darkening. “Do you know how it feels?” he asked, “To watch everyone around you grow old and die, while you keep going? I’m nine-hundred years old. Nine-hundred years of losing people; Susan, Ramona, Ace, Koschei, Rose. The pain never goes away." He hissed, and for a moment, they could see something dark in his eyes. A deep power, barely repressed, and then it was gone, replaced simply by a deep, endless sorrow.

   The three men stood in silence after that.

   What were Sam and Dean supposed to say? They didn’t know what it was like to outlive the ones they loved over and over again. They didn’t, couldn’t ever know.

   No one understood how this topic of conversation came about, but there was nothing they could do about it now. The air was heavier now, thicker than it was earlier. The silence made the atmosphere even more suffocating.

   It remained like this until Dean looked up from the floor to the clock on the nightstand, "It’s late, guys. The morgue is probably closed by now. We might as well wait until tomorrow to go check it out.”

   Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he wiped at the corner of his eye, “We should get some sleep. It’s been a long, rather interesting day.” He looked up at the Doctor, “You can have my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

   “Don’t be ridiculous, Sam,” Dean interjected. “He can have my bed, _I’ll_ sleep on the couch. Technically, you’re still sick. Remember?” he stated as he began clearing off his bed for the Doctor.

   Sam rolled his eyes at the comment, but knew better than to argue with his brother. He began to get ready for bed himself, while Dean began his own preparations.

   The Doctor wiped his eyes, “Actually, you two can take the beds.” Both looked about to protest, so he was quick to elaborate, “I don’t need to sleep. I slept the other day, I’m good for another few days.” He smiled, an expression which they now realized was a cover for his true emotions, “I never really understood how you humans get anything done, sleeping away half your lives!” With that, the Doctor sat down at the desk and pulled out some mechanical parts and began fiddling with them. The brothers shrugged, then continued with their nightly routines.

* * * *

   Dean had spent the first hour and a half of the night staring at the peeling walls, trying desperately to get into a doze. He didn’t want to go into a deep sleep, because when that happened the nightmares came in full force. At least during the day, he could fight the flashbacks and ignore them. But during sleep, he was vulnerable. His mental shields weren’t there, and if they were they did nothing.

   This is probably why at around two a.m. the nightmares became too much. Images of Hell flashed though his mind, showing him the horrors he somehow survived. Showing him just how unworthy he was of living.

   He jerked upward after a particularly painful memory of one of Hell’s past torture sessions. Dean could feel the sweat on his forehead, but was glad when he realized it wasn’t dripping down the sides of his face. Thank god for small mercies.

   As it turned out he thought that too soon, as it was moments later he noticed the eyes of the Doctor on him. The Doctor was staring at him, and in his eyes was the pity that Dean had grown to hate, but also there was understanding. An understanding that could only come from a man that was also haunted by his past. Nothing was said for a long moment, but nothing was needed.

   The two shared a look, as if exchanging their life experiences in a single glance. Dean could see that he wasn’t the only one with metaphorical demons weighing them down. He was almost tempted to say something, anything to break the too-comfortable silence, but he had nothing.

   It seemed though that the Doctor had plenty to say, but whether he was going to choose to say those things or not was still undetermined. Dean was never very good at reading people. That was always Sam’s thing. So he continued to watch the man, to see if he would say anything.

   Finally, the Doctor opened his mouth, “You know, I hate violence, always try to avoid it, to try to find any other solution. But I wasn’t always a pacifist. I used to be a solider. I killed so many people, so many… I regret it every day of my existence, but no matter what I do, I can’t forget. I can’t forgive myself.”

   Dean wasn’t much of an emotional talker. He didn’t like to open up, thought it meant revealing his weaknesses. Though with the Doctor, he felt more at ease. He couldn’t explain it. Less than twelve hours ago, he hated the man, distrusted him with everything he had. But now, in this moment of vulnerability, the man was showing him kindness. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. "Yeah. I can’t do that either, the forgiving and forgetting,“ Dean stated. "I just… after everything that we’ve been through, I just can’t…,” he trailed off, unable to finish.

   He glanced to where Sam was sleeping soundly, oblivious to the going ons around him. The Doctor followed his gaze. “From what I heard, the good you’ve done outweighs the bad. I think that’s the best men like us can hope for.” There was a pause, “I think you should at least try to get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”

   Dean nodded at that.

* * * *

   Sam woke up with a groan. It felt like his head was going to explode. His head had started to hurt sometime last night, probably during their little emotional chat. He didn’t want to worry Dean more than he already was. So he’d keep the severity of the headache to himself. Besides, it probably just a side effect of being sick.

   Speaking of sick, if he didn’t get to a bathroom in the next thirty seconds, he was going to add a new stain to the splatter painting that was the carpet. He got up as quickly and as quietly as he could, and practically sprinted to the bathroom. He just hoped he didn’t attract any attention, but he knew that he didn’t have that kind of luck.

   The Doctor, who true to his word, had not slept a wink all night, looked up worriedly as Sam ran past him in the direction of the bathroom. He stood up to follow, as Dean also started awake. He got to the door of the bathroom in time to hear Sam retching horribly.

   Dean wasn’t far behind him, looking worried for his little brother. Though the Doctor had never been very close to his own sibling, he understood the protective instincts that were practically rolling off of Dean in waves. “Sam?” he asked, putting his ear to the door. His face contorted at the sounds of his brother’s violent vomiting. “Sammy!” He went to open the door, only to find that it was locked. He looked at it in confusion, muttering, “How the hell did he even do that?” Dean shook his head to refocus himself on the situation. He shouted, “Sam, open the goddamn door!”

   The retching noises stopped for the moment, only to be replaced by panting, “Kinda busy, Dean.”

   “You don’t sound busy now. So open the door!”

   “We-” Sam’s retort was soon cut off by another wave of vomiting.

   Dean cringed at the sound. He looked about two seconds away from breaking down the door.

   That’s when the Doctor figured now would be the best time to interject. He gently, but firmly, pushed Dean to the side with a an order to calm down. Then he drew out his sonic, pointing it at the doorknob. There was a buzz and a click as the door unlocked and they could enter the room. The Doctor was immediately by Sam’s side, only narrowly beating Dean.

   Sam looked terrible. The Doctor looked Sam over carefully, then, eyes widening with realization and horror, he stood up. “We need to go to the morgue. _Now_! I need to see those bodies!”

   Sam looked at the Doctor, dazed, “What? Why?”

   Dean’s eyes widened at the realization. He shook his head as he said, “Because whatever happened to the victims is happening to you too.”

   Sam’s face went slack, “What? How?”

   “I don’t know! The point is, now we’re on the clock. We need to figure out what the hell this thing is before it kills you too.” Dean turned to the Doctor, “Be ready in fifteen. You and I are going to the morgue.”

   It seemed Sam had stopped puking for the time being, and had now taken to leaning against the bathtub. “I’m coming with you. I just need a minute.”

   Dean gave a rye chuckle, “No. You are going to stay here and rest.”

   “Dea-”

   “No. This isn’t open for discussion. We don’t need this to escalate any further.”

   Sam looked to the Doctor for help.

   “While you have a good point,” the Doctor started. Dean threw his hands up in frustration, not being able to believe that he was siding with Sam. He continued, “I think it’s best if Sam comes with us. We don’t know fast this develops, and how long it takes before…” he trailed off. “The point is, we don’t want to risk Sam having another attack while we’re gone.”

   Grudgingly, Dean realized that he was right. The fear of coming back to find Sam dead on the floor overruled that of him straining himself by coming along.

* * * * 

   The three entered the morgue, all in suits. Sam, though, was sporting a pair of sunglasses, which were practically shoved onto his face after he almost threw up just stepping outside (the sun’s fault).

   They approached the corner, badges out. Dean did the talking, “Special Agents Deacon and May, and our consultant Agent Taylor. We called about seeing the bodies.”

   The coroner was an older woman, complete with the old lady glasses with a chain attaching around her neck. “Yes, right this way.” She led them to an already open door, a body on it’s slab, “Unfortunately, we only have the second body. The family of the first victim requested that the body be cremated, and as we had no knowledge of any foul play, we were forced to release,” she explained. “Here’s the chart,” she handed it to Dean, “Please let me know if you need anything.” With that, she walked out of the room and out the door.

   Once she was out of earshot, Dean turned to the Doctor, “All right, do your thing.” He turned to Sam, “How you doing there, Sammy?”

   “Super,” Sam said quietly, rubbing his temples.

   Dean turned back to the Doctor, who was already examining the body, “Anything?”

   “Well,” the Doctor began. “Fortunately, the autopsy has already been done, so we can look at their notes. Unfortunately, the body’s been stitched back up already, so we can’t have a look ourselves for anything they might have missed.” He scanned the body up and down with his sonic a few times. It buzzed and beeped at different pitches that seemed to mean something to the alien. “The blood seems to have a high white blood cell count, and there are a few other signs that the body was attempting to fight off something. But there doesn’t seem to be any signs of anything for their body to fight off!”

   Dean furrowed his brow, “What does that mean for Sam? We just keep looking and hope he doesn’t die first?”

   “Well-”

   “Stop saying ‘well’!” he exclaimed. He was just about done with the Doctor’s unhelpfulness. Well, maybe it wasn’t the unhelpfulness, but more he didn’t seem to have any answers. Dean was hoping that someone else (the Doctor) had more of an idea of what was going on than he did.

   “Dean,” Sam said scoldingly. Or at least he tried to, but the sound of his own voice was enough to make him wince.

   “Okay,” he sighed, trying to reign in his frustration. “Do you have any idea what the hell this is?” Dean was secretly (or probably not so secretly) concerned that Sam wasn’t going to last much longer outside of the darkened motel room.

   “There’s multiple possibilities, but hang on-” the Doctor suddenly leaned closer to the body’s face, having seen something. He poked at the victim’s nose.

   “What is it?” Dean asked.

   “Probably nothing, I just thought I saw something move.”

   He poked at the nose once more, then jumped backward as something slithered out of the dead person’s nostril. It looked like a terrifying cross between a centipede and a lamprey, and it was covered in half congealed blood. It had to have been almost four inches long.

   Everyone froze, staring in horror at the thing as it writhed on the autopsy table.

   “What the hell is that?” Dean asked, reaching for his gun on instinct.

   Sam looked like he’d paled even more, leaving him an almost ghostly white. “It looks like some kind of parasite, considering it just crawled out of some dude’s nose,” he stated.

   Dean looked to the Doctor as if to confirm Sam’s suspicion.

   “Yes, it appears to be some kind of parasite,” the Doctor said, having gotten over his shock. He stared curiously at the thing, looking as though he wanted to get closer in order to better examine it, but had decided that the thing’s large teeth were too sharp to be putting his hands anywhere near. “It also seems to be what killed him,” he gestured to the corpse. “And, presumably, the other victims as well.”

   “Wait,” the Doctor looked up as Sam spoke, looking sicker, “You’re saying that I’ve got one of those things inside of me?”

   “Yes. And I’m so sorry.”

     Before the worm could go anywhere, Dean took off his shoe and smashed the worm flat on the table, grimacing as he pulled the the shoe back to reveal a gross sticky mess. “That’s nasty,” he commented as he put his shoe back on.

   Sam opened his mouth to say something, but instead he put his head in his hands and groaned in pain.

   “Sam?” Dean said worriedly, making his way over to him. When he got there, he put two fingers to Sam’s throat, taking his pulse. “His pulse is all over the place. It’s way too high.”

   His breaths were coming in pants. It sounded like he just ran five miles without stopping. His complexion was that of wax paper; shiny and almost translucent. Sam shakily raised his head. Things seemed to be fine for the first few seconds, but it didn’t stay that way (Why would it? Because they can’t get a break ever!). A trail of blood trickled out of his right nostril and made its way downward.

   Dean’s eyes went as wide as saucers as he ripped off his suit jacket, “Oh shi-” He quickly pressed the garment firmly to his brother’s face, tipping his head slightly back as he did so. He turned to the Doctor, “We need to leave. Now!”

   They quickly made their way out of the morgue. Getting only a few strange looks, they successfully made their way back to the Impala. Dean let Sam take over holding the jacket in place, as he had gathered his bearings. The Doctor had taken to sitting in the backseat with Sam.

   They had been driving a while in silence. Dean, still very much concerned, asked, “How’s it going back there? How’s the bleeding?”

   “I’ve got him,” the Doctor assured him. “It’s still bleeding, but as of yet it doesn’t seem to be any worse than a normal nosebleed.”

   Sam attempted to say something, but his current weakness combined with the firm pressure on his nose made it unintelligible.

   “Don’t try to talk,” the Doctor said calmly. “I can’t understand you right now anyway. Just on focus on breathing and staying calm.”

   Dean was barely able to convince himself to obey the traffic laws. He was most likely going at least ten over the speed limit, not to mention 'STOP’ signs ceased to exist in his tunnel vision. Luckily, Dean got them there in one piece. He quickly turned off the car and climbed out to help Sam, “How’re you doing there, Sammy?”

   Sam took the suit jacket away to respond. Red was smeared all over his nose and the surrounding area on his cheeks. “Peachy,” he responded. “I think it stopped.”

   The others didn’t move as they watched closely to see if it had. Sam’s statement held true… for about thirty seconds. Then it seemed a flood gate had opened as blood practically poured out of both his nostrils.

   Dean was quick to react as he reached back into the car and grabbed a giant handful of napkins, courtesy of their many trips to fast food establishments. “No, it did not,” he said sharply. “Damn it, Sam!”

   He practically punched Sam in the face with the amount of force he used to press the napkins to his face. Sam groaned, whether it was from pain or embarrassment he wasn’t sure. With one hand, Dean quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out the room key and tossed it to the Doctor. “Get ahead of me and open the door,” he told him.

   “I can 'old 'apk'ns on 'y 'ace, 'ou 'ow,” Sam’s voice was muffled by the wad of napkins.

   “Yeah, sure you can,” Dean walked toward the room, Sam in tow.

   They hurried into the room, the Doctor immediately clearing off a space for Sam to sit. Once Sam was situated, he took over holding the napkins to his face, apparently agreeing with Dean on Sam’s inability to do anything for himself.

   Turning to Dean, he took charge, “Go get an icepack, or something frozen, it’ll help stop the bleeding.”

   “I thought ice only worked when you broke something. As far as I can tell, he didn’t break his nose,” he questioned, though did what he was asked anyway.

   “'Eriously guys… I c'n 'old th’ st'pid n'pk'ns,” Sam stated, trying to sound annoyed, but only succeeding in sounding dead tired.

   He felt it too. His head still felt like it was trapped in a vice, which, consequently, made his eyes want to pop out of his head. Not to mention, his nose was gushing blood everywhere. This probably couldn’t get much worse. Probably.

   “Shut up, Sam,” Dean tossed his way. He turned to the Doctor, handing him the icepack, “What now?”

   “Hold it on the back of his neck,” he instructed. “While it won’t directly stop the bleeding, it’ll slow down the blood flow to his head, hopefully helping his nose.”

   Dean did as he was told, thinking the explanation sounded medical enough to be valid. Meanwhile, the Doctor was moving frantically around Sam, scanning him with the sonic and trying to figure out a solution to the deadly parasite.

   “Uh guys,” Sam’s voice came through.

   Dean gave the Doctor a look, telling him to take the napkins off his face. “What, Sam?”

   The Doctor complied, letting Sam respond, unobstructed, “I can’t see.”

   Dean did a double take. “What?” he asked, not wanting to believe what he just heard.

   “I…,” Sam looked like he was having trouble talking. His mouth twitched as if he were trying desperately to form his words, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

   “Sam?” When he received no response, he tried again, “Sam.” Dean gave up on holding the icepack in place and went around to look at him.

   Sam looked close to death, and Dean had seen enough dying people to know exactly what that looked like. His face was whiter than anything he’d seen (and he’d seen a lot of things). His eyes were wide in shock and completely unfocused. Dean could see a slight tremor shake his frame periodically. This was the sickest he’d ever seen him.

   “Sammy?” his voice became slightly hysteric. He turned to the Doctor, not even bothering to cover up his concern, “What’s wrong with him? It looks like he’s having a stroke.”

   “He might be,” the Doctor said hesitantly, obviously unsure if this was some other symptom. Then, his demeanor changed into one of authority. “Keep holding the napkins to his nose, and try to keep him comfortable. If he is having a stroke, we can’t do anything but ride it out.” He then turned away from them, causing Dean to give a small noise of protest. “He’s getting worse,” the Doctor explained, running a hand through his hair, careless of the blood he was smearing on the strands. “If we don’t get the parasite out soon it’ll be too late.”

   Dean felt Sam tense beneath him. He was blind, couldn’t speak, and just found out he was most likely having a stroke? That was enough to make anyone freak out. “Sammy, I need you to stay calm. I know that’s a lot to ask, but you gotta do it,” Dean said in a surprisingly calm voice.

   He continued to hold the napkins on Sam’s bleeding nose, which was still going despite all attempts to stop it. Dean was becoming more concerned by second. His little brother was a freaking stroke and all they could do was ride it out? No. Absolutely not!

   “Get over here and help me fix this!” he exclaimed. “This is my family we’re dealing with here. Your name is Doctor, you must know something about what’s happening to Sam.”

   Sam’s hand shot up to Dean’s wrist and latched onto it tightly. He knew it was Sam’s way of grounding himself, which made Dean hopeful. If he was trying to ground himself, maybe this wasn’t actually a stroke? He was still using logic, it had to mean something. Right?

   The Doctor opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it as he stared at Sam’s struggles. He closed his mouth with an audible click and swallowed nervously. Leaning forward, he began to murmur in Dean’s ear, being quiet enough so that Sam could not overhear and freak himself out further. “I know you’re upset, and believe me, I’m my best to help, but I really don’t know what to do. That thing is killing him, and we need to get it out. But we don’t have time to try and get the TARDIS, and without the proper medical equipment, I don’t even know where to begin safely extracting it.”

   “We’ll make time. So call your TARDIS or whatever it’s called, so we can get whatever the hell is in Sam’s head out,” he growled in a low tone. He wasn’t about to just sit here as Sam was suffering when they could do something about it.

   “Dean,” Sam’s quiet voice barely came through the napkins.

   “Sammy?” Dean questioned, pulling the napkins away from his face. “How are you feeling?”

   “I got a splitting headache and I feel so dizzy I might pass out, but otherwise I’m okay. Why? Did something happen?”

   Dean’s eyes instantly went to the Doctor’s, silently asking 'What the hell is going on’.

   The Doctor stared back, looking just as confused. He waved his sonic screwdriver over Sam once again, then frowned in confusion at the readings. "I don’t know why it’s stopped but we’ve got to get him to the TARDIS now. Who knows how long we have until it starts again.“ 

   "Until what starts up again?” Sam asked, confused. “What’s going on?”

   "No time to explain, Sammy,“ Dean told him, grabbing his brother by the bicep and setting him on his feet. "We gotta go. Now.”

   "But-“

   "Just trust me when I say it’s better that we get ahead of this thing, alright?” Dean was practically dragging Sam out of the motel room, the Doctor following close behind.

   "Ahead of what?“

   "If I knew, I’d tell you,” Dean mumbled as he practically shoved Sam into the back seat of the Impala, running around to the front to get in the driver’s seat.

   "I’ll explain as we drive,“ the Doctor said, climbing in to sit next to Sam. He then turned to address Dean, "You remember where we left the TARDIS, right?" 

   Dean nodded affirmatively, "More or less.” He started the car, backing out of the parking spot and tearing out of the motel parking lot faster than was probably legal.

   After a few moments of silence, Sam spoke again. “Now can someone tell me what’s going on?” his voice was laced with irritation.

   "Yes, well,“ The Doctor started, "You’ve got an alien worm in your head thats causing you to have minor strokes, memory loss, and excessive bleeding that will most definitely kill you. But don’t worry-”

   "A what?!“ Sam interrupted, his voice coming out as a yelp of frightened confusion. "I’ve got a- a worm inside my head?”

   "Well actually it’s not really a worm, it’s an alien that closely resembles a-“

   "I have alien inside my head?!” he was bordering hysteria as he continued, “And it’s causing me to have strokes?”

   "And memory loss, as I already said. The stroke is probably the cause of the amnesia, but then again it could be the blood loss…“

   "You’re not helpin’, Doc,” Dean said from the front seat, sending the man an angry look. 

   "So, what’s that mean for me? Am I going to die?“ Sam asked the Doctor, trying not to panic. 

   "Probably,” the Doctor said at the same time Dean said “NO!”

   "Goddamn it, Doc!“ Dean growled, his grip on the wheel tightening as he stepped just a bit harder on the gas pedal. "You have terrible bedside manner, you know that?”

   "Oi! I never said I was a real Doctor!“

   "That’s your name!”

   "So? I can’t have my own name?“

   "You were the one that said you could fix him!”

   "Am I going to die or not?“ Sam asked, interrupting the bickering of the two men.

   "If we can get you to the TARDIS then I can save you!” The Doctor said, pointing unhelpfully in a random direction, “Go that way!’

   "What? You want me to go diagonal? That’s not even a direction!” Dean exclaimed, gesturing with his head to the road. “As you can see, the road doesn’t go that way.”

   "Since when are you concerned about following the rules of the road?“ The Doctor retorted.

   "Can you two stop arguing and focus on maybe helping me?” Sam shouted over them.

   "There it is!“ The Doctor yelled, completely ignoring Sam’s complaints.

   "I can see that, Sherlock,” Dean said, rolling his eyes as he made a sharp turn and quickly braked. “And you wanted me to go diagonal,” he grumbled as he parked the car and got out, going around to help his brother. When Sam didn’t even protest to his brother’s help, Dean became more concerned. It seemed Sam hated help more than Dean hated flying some days. “How are you doing, Sammy?”

   "Fine,“ Sam replied as he nearly toppled over from a lack of balance.

   "Fine my ass,” he grumbled as he hoisted Sam up to his feet and began to follow after the overexcited Doctor.

   The Doctor led the way to the TARDIS, throwing open the doors and leading them inside. The brothers barely had time to marvel at the impossible physics of the TARDIS’ interior before the Doctor was beckoning them down a side hallway. “This way, quickly,” he said, gesturing with his hands. The brothers followed him down the hallway and through several turns until they arrived at a high tech looking room that seemed to be filled with advanced medical equipment.

   Just as they entered the room, Sam felt something drip from his nose and nearly screamed in frustration. “Again?” he sighed as he brought his free hand up to his already profusely bleeding nose. He was getting pretty sick of being a host to literally everything alien or supernatural. Why couldn’t Dean become infected with some sort of alien parasite instead of him?

   "Doc, if you’re gonna do something you better do it now,“ Dean said with urgency lacing his voice. He helped Sam sit on the bed (or at least it looked like a bed) in the middle of the room.

   "I’m working on it!” The Doctor replied. He was digging through some cupboards filled with bottles of various liquids and medicines. After what seemed like forever with Sam bleeding out before their eyes, his hands covered in his own blood and beginning to run down his forearms, the Doctor grabbed a blue vial and a red one. “Grab that beaker,” he instructed Dean, who did so without questioning. The Doctor then began to measure out portions of each liquid and mix them together in the beaker, explaining as he did so. “The worm isn’t going to come out unless it wants to,” he said, “I’m mixing up some chemicals that it won’t like. Sam will drink it, and the worm will come out to get away from the chemicals.”

   "Um…,“ Sam said as he noticed the concoction popping and smoking in the beaker, "Is this even safe to drink?” He didn’t want to die from drinking the thing that was going to supposedly save him.

  “For humans? Mostly. It’s not exactly good for you, there will be some side effects. Mainly cold like symptoms, possible nausea, a slight chance that your appendix might rupture. Nothing too bad.”

   "Rupture? My appendix might rupture?“ Sam asked. His face would have paled more had it not already gone a rather ghastly white from blood loss.

   "For once, I agree with the Doc. I say you drink it,” Dean stated.

   "What? Are you crazy?“ he asked, looking at his brother with his eyebrows raised.

   "It’s better than you dying,” Dean shot back, grabbing the beaker from the Doctor and practically shoving it in Sam’s face. “Now drink up, Sammy.”

   Sam took the beaker from his brother and took a deep breath. Dean was right. This was better than dying. Well, it probably was. Pinching his bleeding nose shut with one hand, he brought the still smoking beaker to his lips and tipped it back, drinking it all. “Ugh! It takes like metallic burnt toast,” he coughed as he unplugged his nose, which was still bleeding much to his chagrin.

   Everyone waited with bated breath, Dean and the Doctor staring intently at Sam’s nose as Sam stared blearily back. For a long moment nothing happened, then Sam’s face scrunched up in discomfort and he reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A hiss of pain escaped Sam as he bent forward.

   "Sam? You okay?“

   "Yeah… I just-” another noise of pain escaped Sam as his hands moved up to his head. “It feels like my head’s going to explode.”

   Dean whirled on the Doctor, his eyes wide with worry. “What the hell is happening? Is that supposed to happen?”

   "The worm is trying to burrow it’s way out.“

   "Like the guy in the morgue?” Sam asked, sounding pained.

   "Like the guy in the morgue.“ The Doctor confirmed.

   "Is that why they died?” Dean asked. “Because the worm tried to burrow out and they couldn’t handle it?”

   "Well yes, but because we’re getting it to come out before you lose too much blood, you should be okay.“

   "Should? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean demanded, wanting answers.

   "Well-“ The Doctor’s response was cut off by another pained groan from Sam, this time sounding more frenzied than before. 

   "Sammy?” Dean asked, going over to his brother.

   He didn’t get a response, only managing out another, louder noise of pain as he clutched his head ever tighter. Blood began to pour with more force out of his nose, and with a wet plop the worm fell onto the floor. Sam began to pant from the effort, even coughing as he tried to take in more air than his lungs could hold.

   As Dean saw the worm began to move on the floor, he went to go step on it, to kill it for killing all of those innocent people and for almost killing his brother. Before he could bring his foot down, the Doctor stepped in. 

   "Wait!“ The Doctor cried, "Don’t squish it!” He then proceeded to scoop the worm up into an empty jar before closing the lid tightly.

   "Why the hell do you want to keep that thing?“ Dean asked, confused. "It’s killed three people and almost killed Sam!”

   "So that I can study it. Try and find out if there are any more on Earth and prevent this from happening again.“

   He crossed his arms and gave the jar a cursory glance over.

   The Doctor was also studying the worm intently as it squirmed around in the jar. He used a piece of equipment to scan the creature, then looked towards a screen where the gathered information was displayed in a strange language. "Oh,” he said with realization, “I know what it is. It’s a Jeiolda from the planet Aiotenem. It’s actually quite harmless on it’s home planet.”

   "Harmless?“ Dean’s eyes practically shot off his forehead. "It killed three people.”

   "Almost four,“ Sam added.

   "Yes, well, the hosts it usually feeds off of are quite a bit more durable than you humans. The parasite rarely harms the host, in fact, the relationship could almost be called commensalism.”

   "Well this didn’t look all commensalism to me,“ Dean commented. "Explain that.”

   "It is on it’s home planet. On Earth though, the parasite just does what it always does but the humans can’t take it and die. The parasite’s probably quite confused, and would keep picking new hosts until it found one that didn’t die. Which, being surrounded by humans, might have taken a long time.“

   Sam let out a deep sigh as he wiped the excess blood off onto his sleeve, staining it a dark red. "So, what’re you going to do with it? I’m assuming you can’t just keep it in that jar forever.”

   The Doctor gave him a funny look, “That’s exactly what I was planning to do.”

   Dean just stared at him, as if just realizing for the first time how insane the man in front of him was. “What? How are you going to do that? Doesn’t it need to be… fed?”

   "Well, I’m sure I’ll figure something out. Who knows, I may drop it off at home next time I’m in the area.“

   He only blinked, continuing to stare at the Doctor before he said, "Alrighty then.” Dean turned to Sam, examining him as he asked, “How are you doing, buddy? You look you could use a nap.”

   Sam leaned back so he was resting on his back, a relieved sigh escaping him now that he could do that without risking death by drowning in his own blood. “Yeah, I… I plan on taking one when we get back to the motel.”

   "Well, we’ll head out once you catch your breath,“ Dean said as he took a seat in a nearby chair. Leaning his head back, he let out a sigh of relief. It seemed they were out of the woods. At least, until the next creature came along and tried to kill them.

* * * *

   "Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come with me? Just one trip, to a safe planet you could relax and recover. We’d be back before anyone noticed you were gone,” The Doctor asked once more as he stood in the doorway of the TARDIS. The brothers were standing outside, having turned to say goodbye. Sam was feeling slightly better, barely needing Dean’s help to stand.

   "Nah, we do better on our own,“ Dean reassured him as they turned to head to the car. He could feel the Doctor’s eyes on him as he helped Sam get into the front seat. As he shut the door, he turned to face the Doctor one last time. "Listen,” he began, gaining the man’s attention, “I just wanted to say thank you. You saved my brother and I… Thank you.”

   "You’re welcome.“ The Doctor smiled at Dean, "You know, if you and Sam ever need anything, call me,” he stepped forward and handed Dean a slip of paper.

   He looked at the card for a few moments before slipping the card into his pocket and giving him nod. “I’ll keep that in mind. You know where to find us if you’re ever back in town.” Wrapping around the front of the car, he climbed into the Impala and started the car. He made a quick U-turn and pulled out so they were back onto the main road and drove back in the direction of the motel.

   The Doctor watched them leave and continued to stare long after the car disappeared into the distance. Then he turned around, walked inside, and closed the door. A moment later, the TARDIS dematerialized, leaving an empty field.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Want more?  
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> 
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> You can do that in the comments here or on my Tumblr page (@notsoobviousfangirl).
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> Thanks for reading :)


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